[Giorno is being absolutely terrible right now; he knows what it is Fugo wants. That pretty smile, although Giorno can only keep it up for a brief moment to mask his wickedness, doesn't fool him for a second. He makes a frustrated sound that-- it's not a whimper. (It is a whimper.) He knows three languages. Why can't he work out a sentence in any of them? He wants to chastise Giorno for being pointedly obtuse, but that's running up against the desire to babble praise for Giorno's clever, wandering fingers.]
Yes, but-- [He makes an exasperated noise and shivers a little. So Giorno doesn't get the wrong idea, he rolls his hips back towards the touch.] You know where--
[-- oh, thank God, Giorno finally can't keep up with his own teasing. Fugo tilts his head so they can meet at the perfect angle; he eagerly responds, matching Giorno in affection and desire. Without realizing he's doing it, other than acting on a desire to simply hold Giorno as tight as he can, his arms rearrange themselves until both elbows are hooked around Giorno's shoulders. Oh, yes. That's nice. Giorno is very warm and fills his arms so perfectly. This is what he wanted.]
no subject
Yes, but-- [He makes an exasperated noise and shivers a little. So Giorno doesn't get the wrong idea, he rolls his hips back towards the touch.] You know where--
[-- oh, thank God, Giorno finally can't keep up with his own teasing. Fugo tilts his head so they can meet at the perfect angle; he eagerly responds, matching Giorno in affection and desire. Without realizing he's doing it, other than acting on a desire to simply hold Giorno as tight as he can, his arms rearrange themselves until both elbows are hooked around Giorno's shoulders. Oh, yes. That's nice. Giorno is very warm and fills his arms so perfectly. This is what he wanted.]